


Loss and Emptiness

by Athanasa



Series: Turncoat [4]
Category: FFXIV
Genre: Angst, Career Ending Injuries, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medical Conditions, POV Second Person, Permanent Injury, Referenced amputation, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athanasa/pseuds/Athanasa
Summary: Set about a week and a half after "Oh, Ice". Waking up to find a leg missing and a hole in your chest is nobody's idea of a good time.What can you even do if you can’t walk or talk? A career soldier? Nothing. You’ll be nothing.RP writeup. Talios and Mist belong to Ortrikar.





	Loss and Emptiness

_Weight._ Everything feels heavy and yet somehow fluid, as if made of water sodden blankets. Especially on your chest and left leg. _Focus_ , focus on your senses. What do you know about your surroundings?

There’s the sound of a clock somewhere. By the quality of the sounds, the acoustics of the room, you’re in an area with soft furnishings. Friendly territory, or at least not hostile. You’re… propped up. A twitch of your shoulders to work out just _what_ you’re propped against turns out to be educational in more than just that, and helps explain why your chest feels so, so heavy.

Something soft at your back. Something wrong with the left side of your chest. There isn’t pain as such, but a definite feeling of _wrongness_. Another snippet of information to piece together your situation - likely pillows at your back, probably somewhere medical. _For whatever reason, you don’t want to open your eyes… it’s a subconscious decision, and you don’t notice it. But it’s there, and the reason for your next action. After all, you could simply look down to find out the extent of the damage…_ Instead, you don’t. Carefully, slowly, you take a long, deep breath - tightness over your chest, pulling at the skin, and a sense of… emptiness? And _pain_ , finally, cutting through whatever drugs you’re on. You hiss involuntarily through jaws you hadn’t realised were clenched, breath escaping cool out of your cheek and lips.

Eyes still closed, you analyse your situation, slowly letting that breath out. What happened to bring you here? Your clench your eyes shut a tighter at the effort of trying to pierce the fog of confusion in your memory, a faint frown forming. What happened to bring you here? A twitch of your head appears to rule out head injury, which would potentially explain foggy recollections. But, then, there are plenty of things that could cause that… Whatever put you here was bad, then. Very bad.

You raise your right arm to scratch idly at the scarring along your jaw, a focal point in reality to think on… or, at least, you attempt to. Apart from your arm being damnably heavy to move, something stops it after a few ilms. A tightening of fabric around your wrist.

_Restraints?_

That’s enough to snap pale grey eyes open wide, looking down. _A mistake._ You could have done without seeing that absence. Another part of you, gone. You don’t even remember how, or what, or _why_ … it’s just gone. Left leg, knee down. An absence under the covers. You open your mouth to say something, a denial, croaked noise of loss, _anything_ , but no sound comes out.

A wave of dizziness and darkness nearly overwhelms you. How much of that is from the overwhelming sense of _loss_ and how much is due to general weakness of low blood volume and your current condition is debatable. Your eyes snap closed once more, locking the world out. Breath becomes ragged, strangled with emotion, _despair_. Short breaths. _Keep control. Barriers down. Bring the barriers down, soldier! DO IT!_ Somehow, you force your face to become neutral once more, wiped blank of emotion through mental effort. It’s a practiced exercise, one you’ve performed countless times before. It’s almost comforting. Still, this doesn’t stop your breath catching, breathing too fast… or tears forming unbidden. Weakness? Hardly, a biological response to extreme stress and loss. Not that you notice them. It’s been so long since that’s happened.

Footsteps approach, an attempt at a calming tone. Mist? **“Easy, Snow. We're all here. I'll explain, but I need you to breathe, alright?”**

A single nod. You’re not going to try to talk - you fear it being silent again. _What can you even do if you can’t walk or talk? A career soldier? Nothing. You’ll be nothing._ Eyes still shut, squeezed shut, clenched shut. That’s betraying emotion even if everything else on your face has been locked flat.

 **“... look at me.”** There’s no real command in that voice, instead, a request. Almost pleading. You don’t want to - it’s easier right now, in the darkness behind your eyes, to just let things… process. A little longer. Seconds pass by as you breathe, trying not to clench your jaws in further lockout, five breaths, and you force your eyes open again, catching her own - bright limbal rings, short black hair. Oh, the anxiety - the _fear and despair_ you feel is clear from the set of your eyes, the way they dart between hers, when all else is blanked off.

A short nod and a part smile from the Raen. She takes a few steps forward, a scaled hand reaching out to rest on your arm. You flick your eyes down to that, then back up at her face. Those bright eyes. That’ll do as an anchor point, for now. ~~_It's... strange. You know she's a Raen, you know the scales are pale, but her face is a blur. A blob. The only parts remaining are those bright blue-green eyes._~~ **“I know. The fear, the despair. It’s choking, and it hurts.”** Calm and clear, a note of concern. **“One thing at a time. I can and will explain all I know, as limited as that may be. And I hope you will forgive my part in it.”** ~~_You remember her expression turned sad at that, but your memory doesn't display it._~~ What needs to be forgiven? You remain silent - hah, like you could do otherwise - and still, not trusting yourself to tilt your head in query or allow anything out from behind the tenuous shields you’ve constructed. Tears are still there, building in your eyes. Not that you notice them… oh, or maybe you do. A blink to clear your vision, setting one free to roll part way down before it stops.

 **“What I know is this. Yourself, and”** \- _~~The memory loses focus, becoming flooded with static for a moment~~_ \- **“took on a job outside of Falcon's Nest. Recon only. One Ice Soldier. It went south, you called for us... By the time we got there, you'd almost been lost. Cross... He's here. Pale called for help, working alone would have lost one or both of you.”** Clearly spoken, she’s carefully choosing her words. Not that you’re able to catch that. This information… right now, it’s too much for you to process. Falcon’s nest. You remember that. Odd jobs, here and there. A nice break. Ice soldier? Almost lost? One or both of us? **“You... Your leg. It was crushed under the damn thing. Cross was using himself as a windbreaker, not that he could have done much else. There was no way to save it, so I…”** She exhales, slow, steadying. **“I removed it. It was that or your life.”**

 _Cross._ Oh, ice, _Cross_. Your leg be damned, how is Cross?! You open your mouth without thinking, mouthing a silent _How is he?_ No noise escapes once more, just an elongated, rasping breath. One that you can’t help but flinch at. The leg… that couldn’t be helped. You’d assumed it was something where it was your leg or your life, it normally is. This doesn’t help you deal with the loss, though. But… loss aside, focus elsewhere. Focus on Cross. On _~~static, a hole in the memory~~_. On your brother.

 **“He’s… stable. Pale isn’t done yet.”** She shoots a short glance over her shoulder to… you’re not sure where. You’re not looking away from her face, not now you’re latched onto this anchor point. **“It wasn't good. He shouldn't have been moving at all, but he did. A higher priority is a hell of a motivator.”** There’s something pointed in her tone there, as the realisation hits you. _Cross, I’m so sorry._ **“The arm hit him, has left a lot of damage. He's still out.”**

You flinch slightly at that, regret clear on your face, breaking through your barriers. Not that… well, you’d have done the same for him. Carefully, you raise your eyebrows in question, tilting your head slightly. You’re not going to try talking again. It hurts - emotionally - to hear that toneless, wordless rasp. And right now, you can’t really gesture with your hands either, restrained as they are. And for good reason, too.

Her sigh in response isn’t a good sign, nor is the careful way she removes her hands from your arm, moving her way around the bed to reach the dividing curtain. And then pulls it out of the way.

You follow her movements, carefully tilting your head. At least ~~_static, a flood of regret_~~ is to your right, thank ice for small graces. However, ‘a lot of damage’ isn’t enough to prepare you for this. (Then again, in your current mental state, it’s unlikely you’re well prepared for anything.)

 _A lot of damage_ is a correct assessment. Your breath catches in your throat, a sick feeling rising up there unbidden. There are multiple reasons for this - an overwhelming worry for the lad and a sickening feeling of guilt (while you can’t remember much of the events that lead to this, it’s almost certain that _you lead it_ , and this can therefore be traced back to your decisions). 

He’s on his front, head turned towards you - a head mercifully free of damage. Bruising along his ribs, what looks like fresh stitching. Something not quite right with a leg either. _~~A sense of loss, emptiness~~ , I’m so sorry._ And finally, his spine. Swollen and bruised in places, from what little you can see, things… not as they should be. You swallow, hard.

 **“... Flail Chest has been dealt with. Broken ribs on both sides. Cracked sternum.”** A simple report. You don’t even acknowledge it with a response. There’s far too much take in right now. More weight, upon what’s already crippling your mind. An overwhelming sense of complete and utter emptiness, despair, fear and… weight. Crushing weight, something at once empty and heavy, sitting in the centre of your chest. _Breathe. Focus. He’s still alive._ There’s a spark there to cling to. 

Keep going.

For ~~_one you've lost_~~.


End file.
